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hurt me.” My voice caught. “I think he wanted to kill me.”
    “Kill a woman he didn’t even know?” His voice again rose in disbelief.
    “He knew who I was,” I said. “He used my name in this hallway, moments ago.”
    Something gnawed at me, some source of confusion, but before I could sort it out, the young man found my summons, on the floor of the room where I was attacked, and read it. “This summons is signed by Cromwell,” he said, turning somber. “You are Joanna Stafford, the daughter of Sir Richard Stafford—you are related to the third Duke of Buckingham?”
    “My uncle.”
    “Ah, so the Earl of Surrey is your cousin,” he exclaimed.
    “Correct,” I said, rather surprised my family connections were this widely known. My cousin, Elizabeth Stafford, married the Duke of Norfolk, and their eldest son was indeed the Earl of Surrey, a poet and soldier and someone who had acted as a friend to me.
    “I apologize for disbelieving anything you said,” he said. His eyes traveled up and down my clothing. “In my defense, you’re hardly dressed for court.”
    I sighed. “I am aware of that.”
    “I don’t have much time—I must make my way to Westminster Hall—but I will take you to the sergeant-in-arms to make report. He will launch a thorough inquiry, believe me. The palace will be turned upside-down. He will find this criminal. And the matter will be addressed by the lord steward, perhaps even the chamberlain himself. The king will be made aware. This is one of his most particular rules, that there be no violence within the boundaries of the court.”
    “No, I don’t want that,” I said. “I don’t want that sort of attention.” I had no idea where such an inquiry would lead, and I kept too many dangerous secrets to risk it.
    The young man said, “You can’t just proceed to the keeper of the wardrobe now, after this. The page—he could be searching for you. That would be the first place he’d look. Or do you think he was too deranged by violence to seek you out?”
    I said slowly, “His actions were deranged, but in words he did not seem so. No, he seemed very . . . calm.”
    “All the worse, if he is able to conceal his vile nature behind a gentle manner,” he declared. “We must find this page, and be sure he is punished.”
    I rubbed my temples, trying to think.
    “Do you just want to go home?” he asked, gently.
    My attacker knew who I was, so he could easily find me in Dartford, where I lived, defenseless. How could I press suit to my cousin, Lord Henry Stafford, for the return of Arthur, when violence hovered?
    “I want to find out who this page is,” I said, “but not through an official inquiry. “ My head cleared. “You know the court well. I know it not at all. Will you help me learn this man’s identity?”
    “Mistress Stafford, you are a cousin to the Earl of Surrey, a man I’m proud to call a friend, and so of course I will help you in any way I can,” he said, straightening. “My name is Thomas Culpepper.”
    “I thank you, Master Culpepper,” I said. “What course of action should we pursue to learn this page’s name?”
    He caught my eye, held it, and then laughed. “I don’t know yet,” he said with disarming honesty. Just as under close scrutiny I’d realized the page was older than I first thought, Thomas Culpepper was younger. I would have put his age at about twenty-five. Even when laughing, his face was eerily perfect. With such symmetry of features, he resembled one of the king’s tapestry figures more than an earthly man.
    “Until we form some sort of plan, you’ll have to come with me, since I can’t leave you alone and unprotected,” he said. “I must attend this special convening at Westminster.”
    “What sort of convening?” I asked, apprehensive.
    “Just yesterday, the king called for his council, the nobles, and the commons to appear at Westminster Hall this afternoon. He intends to make Thomas Cromwell the Earl of